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Chapter Text

‘The ceremony must take place at Trinity Church.’ Mrs Ernestine Fife leaned across the white marble table at the Vendome to show she was as earnest as her name. ‘Just think, the names of Ford and Fife will be in the annals of Boston history for years to come. Imagine the distinction it will confer upon us all.’

Jack Ford cleared his throat before addressing his soon-to-be mother-in-law. ‘We were going to suggest a private ceremony in your drawing room, Ma’am. Weren’t we, Father?’ The whole production was blowing up into something huge.

Mrs Fife raised her lorgnette and gazed across the table at him with narrowed eyes as if he was a specimen beneath a glass case. He’d surely grow used to her fixed beady gaze during the years to come. ‘Would you have it done in a parlor, young man, as if dear Caroline is a tradesman’s daughter?’

Jack’s face burned. He felt like a bug pinned to a display case.

His fiancé, Caroline, squirmed in her seat across from him.

Old Elmer Fife boomed, ‘It will be the biggest, most important day in each of your lives, son. We’ll spare no expense. You know your father and I can cover it.’

‘That’s right, now is not the time for pinching pennies, Jack.’ Caspar Ford, his own father, gave him a sly kick on his ankle beneath the table. ‘This will be a day for being out in the open, proving our refinement. Not for hiding like crabs beneath a rock.’

With a curt nod, Jack chewed a mouthful of roast duck. Of course, that’s what this is all about. Both his family and the Fifes were regarded by the Boston Brahmins as vulgar new money with dollar signs for eyeballs. For his father, this union would be a day to prove his impeccable taste and flaunt his wealth before all the world. Then Jack would be left to live the rest of his life with a girl he barely knew.

‘I simply thought you’d wish to utilize your drawing room for the reception, ma’am. Imagine the effect when all those lights are switched on.’

‘The lad does have a point my dear.’ Mr Fife’s moustache twitched over his wine glass. ‘Electric lighting is still so novel and who else has a line of chandeliers across the ceiling as breathtaking as ours? When will we have a better chance to simply flick a switch in front of so many people than at the wedding breakfast? With those velvet drapes of yours hung to full advantage across the wall of windows, it will look like fairyland.’

His wife folded her soft, dimpled hands on the table. ‘Well, maybe the church first and the reception at home afterwards. Let’s consider the guest list. We must fit everyone comfortably into the space we have.’

Caspar Ford and Elmer Fife took turns rattling off a whole slew of important big-gun’s names who absolutely must be invited. Some of them, Jack didn’t recognize at all. Others were well-known financiers, bankers, and stockbrokers. Successful men of business and social climbers like themselves, with a few token ‘old money’ names thrown in.

‘Should we cap the invitation list at three hundred then?’ Mrs Fife’s forehead furrowed.

‘Three hundred mouths! That’s a regiment, not a wedding!’ Her husband threw back his grizzled head and laughed. ‘Of course we can’t exclude people of consequence.’

‘At five to seven dollars a head for multiple courses and drinks, it’ll be a veritable banquet of bank notes,’ Caspar added.

‘We mustn’t forget table centerpieces, bridal gown, and flowers,’ Ernestine Fife said. ‘The florist insists on two hundred dollars for orchids alone.’

‘Good grief, for flowers that perish in one night!’ Elmer gaped at his wife.

‘Don’t complain, dear. We knew this day would come when we had a daughter. It’s all about what people see.’

Poor Caroline’s eyelashes came down like window shades.

‘Do they see our little Caroline? Or the orchids?’

‘Both dear. Preferably at the same time.’

Elmer began making calculations on his stubby fingers. ‘So far, let’s say seven dollars a head for three hundred people, plus two hundred for flowers and five hundred for the bridal gown. Goodness me, it would be handy to have a pencil and paper.’

‘Two thousand eight hundred,’ Jack shot out.

Mrs Fife tilted her head at him. ‘Really?’

‘Take his word for it.’ Caspar grinned at his son with a form of pride. ‘He’s quick as lightning at mental arithmetic.’

Caroline directed Jack a sideways glance and moistened her lips. She was a girl of few words.

‘We must have Caroline’s school mistress,’ Mrs Fife put in. ‘Caroline was head girl at Saint Angelica’s, so dear Mrs Abercrombie wouldn’t miss it for all the world.’

‘Of course,’ Jack murmured, since those glittering eyes seemed to be fixed right on him.

Mr Fife tilted an oyster out of its shell and into his open mouth. ‘How about you, my boy? Should we add the masters of your old school to the list? Where was it?’

‘I don’t know if you would have heard of it, sir. A place called Plumfield.’ Jack would never dream of inviting the Bhaers to his wedding in a fit. Even if they remembered him with any fondness, they’d consider it tastelessly ostentatious anyway, being as Spartan as they were. He could envisage Mother Bhaer’s tightly pressed lips, even though he hadn’t seen her in ten years. Part of Jack withered inside.

‘It’s an elite establishment that only took on a limited number of gentlemen’s sons,’ Caspar embellished. Jack had heard this same spiel many times over the years. ‘The proprietor is a celebrated professor from Germany. And his wife is well-known now, as the author of a bestselling novel.’

Of course she was. That was another of Jack’s fatal omissions that had probably nailed his coffin lid with the folk at Plumfield. He’d never written Mrs Bhaer to congratulate her on her success. He’d seen reviews of her novel in the newspapers. It sounded to him like a moralistic piece of work brimming with the homilies she used to spout every day, written in the guise of a children’s novel. All of her other ex-students had no doubt gushed but he wasn’t really interested. No doubt his oversight, if noticed at all, had been taken as a deliberate snub. Yet another reason why he couldn’t possibly expect them to attend his wedding.

‘Yes, why not invite them along?’ Dad wore his squinty, speculative smile. ‘I hadn’t given them a thought in years, but it will be the biggest, most important wedding they’ll ever be likely to attend.’

Jack gritted his teeth. He attempted an imperceptible headshake at his father. ‘I doubt they’d want to come.’ Need he remind Dad that he hadn’t been their favorite student.

Then Mr Fife said something that made him jump. ‘Is that the small school just outside of Concord?’

Jack jerked up his chin. ‘You have heard of it then, sir?’

Mr Fife gave a gusty sigh. ‘Only because of a notice in the paper. They’ve suffered a spot of grief very recently. A nephew of theirs was drowned at sea.’

The back of Jack’s neck turned icy cold with a prickly sensation like tiny footsteps. ‘Er, how do you know this, sir?’

‘As I said, it was in yesterday’s Clarion. He was a sailor whose ship went down.’

Now all of the plates, terrines, terrapin shells, and finger bowls seemed to swirl before Jack’s vision, as if they were sinking in the ocean themselves.

‘Well, what do you know,’ Dad breathed. ‘It must’ve been that friend of yours with the one-track mind to go off to sea. What was his name again?’

‘Emil.’ Even though everything felt so unreal, Jack automatically fielded questions and kept the conversation going. He’d had too much practice not to.

‘That’s right. It’s a sad piece of news. What a waste to have let him go at all. They might have guessed how dangerous it would be.’

‘I’m so sorry.’ Caroline’s regretful treble hung in the air for a moment.

But her mother had already drifted on to another subject. ‘I hope the time of year will be fine enough for Caroline’s veil of Honiton lace.’

Jack blinked, trying to remind himself that this bombshell needn’t rock his world at all. He hadn’t seen Emil for over ten years, and he’d had no intention of ever seeing him again. It was time to tuck this new piece of knowledge away because it wasn’t relevant in his current life.

‘Honiton?’ he asked. ‘What sort of fabric is that?’

Mrs Fife tittered until she coughed. ‘Oh deary me, it isn’t an actual fabric, my dear boy, but the place from which it is was first made. How like a young man to ask such a thing.’

Jack flushed yet again. Once upon a time, Emil would have appreciated his unintentional gaffe. As schoolboys, they might have sniggered together about it. Now his eyelids burned.

‘We must have a string ensemble.’ Mr Fife dug his knife into another oyster shell. ‘Think of it, four string musicians playing waltzes.’

‘That will be very elegant,’ his wife agreed.

‘Now, do we know anybody who plays a stringed instrument?’ Elmer Fife pondered.

Nat Blake. Jack crumpled his napkin on his lap. That name always sprang to mind whenever anybody mentioned violins. He didn’t speak it out loud. Even if he’d seen Nat within the last decade, he could never bring himself to ask him to play at his wedding because of the frigid history between them. He guessed nobody at Plumfield had ever quite forgiven him for stealing Tommy Bangs’ money and letting Nat take the blame.

‘No, nobody I know,’ Jack said.

‘Our niece, Lillian, has a friend who knows a violinist,’ Mrs Fife said. ‘Dearest Lillian and Amelia will make the most beautiful bridesmaids, don’t you think?’

‘Indeed they will.’ Another of Caroline’s short interjections.

‘Now Jack, who will you choose for best man?’ Mr Fife asked.

‘I don’t believe he’s given it much thought yet,’ said Caspar Ford. ‘Time to start thinking, son.’

The wave of grief Jack had held back suddenly swamped him. He’d never had another friend like Emil. It should have been Emil. When they were boys at school, they would’ve pledged to be each other’s best man, if they’d ever even given such matters a thought.

But now Emil, that liveliest of friends, was dead. Sunk to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.

‘Excuse me for a moment.’ Jack rose from the table, dropped his scrunched napkin onto the velvet chair, and lurched toward the restaurant door. He glimpsed the startled expression of a waiter. Jack had probably made a scene. He hadn’t thought to monitor the expression on his face as he walked away.

Once outside, he gulped a breath of fresh night air and beelined to the darkest retreat he could find, a bench seat sheltered by a canopy of wisteria, overlooking a pond with lily pads the size of dinner plates. Jack rested his face in his hands.

* * *

‘Um, Jack, are you alright?’ Caroline’s quiet voice spoke behind his elbow.

He jerked to attention. ‘Sure, did they send you out after me?’ It seemed he had made a fool of himself.

She shook her head. ‘No, I came out on my own. You looked pale.’

Rolling his shoulders, he supposed he owed her some explanation. ‘It was just such a shock. Hearing about my friend.’

Caroline’s curls bobbed as she nodded. ‘I thought it might be that.’

‘We hadn’t made an effort to keep in touch,’ Jack went on. He scuffed the bottom of his shoe through the seed pods that lay underfoot. ‘Well, he tried but I didn’t follow up – for various reasons. But I never dismissed the thought that maybe we’d just happen to bump into each other someday. Impossible now.’

Caroline sank gingerly onto the bench, taking care to leave a space of several inches between them. ‘Of course. It’s the finality that hurts.’

‘You could say that.’

‘A bit like marriage maybe.’

Jack swiveled on the bench to look at her. He could tell from the scanty light of the distant lanterns that Caroline regretted her words.

‘Sorry! I didn’t mean that marriage… to you… will be like death.’ She clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘Goodness me, I’d better keep quiet. I’m making things worse.’

Jack let out a sudden laugh. That was the longest speech he’d ever heard from Caroline. If it turned out to be typical, no wonder she kept her comments brief. Yet somehow her blunders suited him better than any of her mother’s sharp rejoinders.

‘That’s alright,’ he mumbled. ‘He would’ve laughed to have heard you. My friend, Emil, that is. In a friendly way, I mean. Don’t get me wrong, he wouldn’t have laughed at you. Just at the notion that being married to me might be worse than death.’ Jack bit back a groan. Perhaps he should stop talking too.

‘He sounds like a good friend.’ Caroline was winding the ribbon from her sash round and round her index finger. ‘Not for laughing. Simply because he felt comfortable enough with you to say exactly what he thought.’ She let out a squeak. ‘But I don’t mean that you’re formidable. Not at all.’

Shaking his head, Jack decided to cut in and take Caroline out of her misery. ‘There was nobody else quite like Emil. He was sea-crazy, just as my father said, long before he ever got to go on a proper journey. The Commodore is what we all nicknamed him. He’d sing sea shanties all day long if he could. If he forgot the words, he’d make them up and somehow they’d fit and have us rolling on the grass in stitches.’ Jack scratched his head. ‘I doubt I’m doing him justice with my description. I suspect I make him sound like one of those one-track bores we all try to dodge when we see them coming. But Emil wasn’t like that at all. He made us all want to love something as much as he loved the sea. Perhaps you had to know him to appreciate him.’

‘I’m sorry I’ll never get that opportunity,’ Caroline said.

‘I don’t know if it would’ve ever happened anyway,’ Jack mumbled.

After a lengthy pause, Caroline asked, ‘Well, did you?’

Jack twisted around to face her again. ‘Sorry?’

She stared down at the ribbon twisted around her fingers. ‘Did you love anything as much as Emil loved the sea?’

‘No,’ Jack said shortly. ‘I’m born cynical, you might say. Although the other fellows used to say I loved money as much as Emil loved the sea.’

‘Ah yes, money.’ It seemed Caroline had reverted back to brief statements.

‘I’d give anything to have replied to his letters now.’ Jack had already said so much, he might as well plow on.

A sudden voice called, ‘Caroline, dear, did you find him?’

They both turned their heads toward the piazza. There stood Mrs Fife, her bustle rippling like a sail in the wind.

Caroline was on her feet. ‘Yes, Mother.’ She cast Jack a quick smile. ‘You needn’t come back yet. I’ll give everyone your apologies.’

‘I hope you don’t think I’ve deserted the wedding planning.’

‘I wouldn’t worry about that.’ She sighed softly. ‘The decision makers are all still present. Sometimes I can’t help thinking it’s our parents who are being wed.’

Only when Caroline returned inside did Jack reconsider his reply to her question. Should his proper response have been that he loved her, Caroline Fife, as much as Emil had loved the sea? He seized a twig from the ground and strode around the pond, snapping bits off and flicking them in.

Oh well, never mind. She wouldn’t have believed me anyway. She hardly knows me. And if she did know me well, she probably wouldn’t be marrying me.

Chapter Text

Ned swiftly peered around the room, imbibing the opulence he’d just entered into.

Mrs Fife’s parlor was all chintz curtains and dazzling porcelain knick-knacks on shelves. The lady of the house herself had greeted him with an affable nod.

‘Feel free to spread your wares over this corner table, Mr Barker. I can spare you twenty minutes of my time.’

Ned unclasped the brass buttons of his display case with a resounding snap and unleashed his highly polished smile on the old dame. Inside, his regiment of bottles, tins, and contraptions gleamed convincingly, each nestled against their separate compartments.

‘Madam, I’m delighted to tell you that we live in an age of scientific marvels,’ he began. ‘Disease and discomfort, once the scourge of mankind, are now yielding to…’

‘Hello, Ned Barker! Is it really you?’ The intrusive voice was not exactly an echo from earlier years. It had deepened over the last decade. But there was no mistaking the fellow it belonged to. Ned felt his first bottle almost slip from his hands. Older, taller, and decidedly smarter looking than the teenager he’d known, there in a doorway to some wing of the mansion loomed Jack Ford, of all people.

Mrs Fife looked from one to the other. ‘Are you acquainted with Mr Ford, my future son-in-law?’

Ned, usually poised for any distraction, was temporarily floored. He brushed away the beads from his brow and let Jack field the question.

‘We were at school together, ma’am.’

‘Do you mean that same elite establishment you mentioned last night over dinner.’

Jack inclined his head. ‘My father is the one who describes it so, but yes, the same place.’ He was looking Ned up and down. ‘Last I heard of you, you were studying law.’

‘Life takes funny turns sometimes.’ Ned cleared his raspy throat. Of course, Jack was just the sort of wily chap to ingratiate himself into some rich stockbroker’s family. But what sort of young woman would have fallen for somebody as cool and calculating as Jack?

‘Please continue with your display, Mr Barker,’ said the rich dame.

Jack slipped into the parlor and sank down on a horsehair wing chair. ‘May I sit in?’

‘Of course, dear, if you wish.’ Mrs Fife appeared astonished that he’d asked.

Ned dampened his lips. This was the worst circumstance for a sudden reunion he could have imagined. If anybody was to see through his case full of quackery, Jack was the man. Jack, who had so expertly swindled his neighbors and fellow students with his make-over commodities at a very tender age.

‘Ah, certainly.’ Ned blinked down at the bottle he held. ‘This is Dr Bonbright’s Universal Elixir. It invigorates the nerves, purifies the blood, and ah… restores the moral tone.’

‘What does that mean?’ Jack hunched forward.

‘Pardon?’ Ned tugged his red silk necktie. It made swallowing even more difficult.

‘Restoring the moral tone.’

Lost for a glib reply, Ned groped for one of his trusty pamphlets. ‘Why… it’s used by the crowned heads of Europe. Anything endorsed so highly by royalty confers a form of goodness and respectability upon its users along with its healing properties.’

Jack snorted but Mrs Fife actually appeared interested.

‘Is it possible that you could open the bottle, young man? Show us a sample of the liquid.’

‘Of course, madam.’ Ned popped the cork and released a whiff of raw spirits and camphor.

Jack coughed.

Recoiling slightly, Mrs Fife drew a lace-edged handkerchief from some pocket in her voluminous dress. ‘Good heavens, it’s strong.’

‘It certainly is ma’am. One spoonful taken before retiring ensures the sweetest repose.’

‘I can understand why,’ said Jack. ‘Probably lays you out like a ninepin for hours.’

Ned turned away to hide his flushed cheeks. He rummaged in his case for a product that might make a milder impression. The silver tin of greasy salve would do.

‘This soothing balm for the nerves is guaranteed to banish fretfulness, vapors, and sleeplessness.’

Jack clasped his hands behind his head. ‘So used in conjunction with that elixir, you can hibernate like a bear, right?’

Ned pressed his lips together. The confounded fellow had grown into his looks. During the Plumfield days, Jack had been sallow, with a somewhat prominent nose and chin. Now the planes of his face had softened, and he had a bright-eyed demeanor that young women might not find displeasing. Ned had rubbed shoulders with enough girls to guess that they might call Jack handsome in an angular, pale sort of way.

The old lady unscrewed the lid and rubbed some fragrant ointment onto her crepey wrist. ‘I do need something like this. Especially with busy wedding planning to oversee. Perhaps I’ll purchase one tin to start with. But does it come with a testimonial?’

‘Indeed it does.’ Ned knew the line by heart but drew her attention to it on the pamphlet as he rattled it off. He understood customers like Mrs Fife. Seeing something printed was almost the same as gospel to them. ‘See here, ma’am. This was written by Lady Bellamy of London. She says, “I applied it nightly and it restored my faith in Providence.”’

Jack’s lips twitched.

Mrs Fife drew an appreciative sniff of the lavender-laced lard.

‘The molecular harmony of this salve is second to none,’ Ned assured her.

‘And what does that mean?’ Jack demanded.

‘What now?’

‘Molecular harmony.’

Mrs Fife raised a pudgy hand to shush him. ‘Hush, Jack, you and I are in no position to ask questions. We know nothing about science.’

Ned dared to cast his old friend a smug smile. He used his moment of advantage to reach for the most visually impressive item in his kit.

‘This, madam, is the Electric Nerve Reviver.’ He lovingly stroked the galvanic battery he cradled in his hand, turning it to show her its copper pads and curling wires.

‘What the…’ Jack trailed off.

‘What does it do?’ Mrs Fife raised her lorgnette.

‘It cures headaches, paralysis of the nerves, and melancholia. I’ll demonstrate.’

Ned went through the motions of pressing the pads against his own temples. With a tiny spark, he jerked back slightly while simultaneously raising his eyebrows. ‘That tingle is the spark of life itself.’

By now, Jack was openly laughing. ‘It certainly makes you look like a galvanized rabbit.’

Mrs Fife’s face was wreathed in smiles. ‘It might be just the thing for my dear husband when his low spirits overtake him. But does it hurt?’

‘Nothing more than a slight zap, ma’am.’

Suddenly the door swung open and in stepped a young lady with a fresh complexion, butter-colored curls, and clear green eyes. She paused with a questioning smile.

‘Caroline, dear, Jack has finished balancing those gnarly ledgers for your father. He’s so very quick. And this is Mr Barker. He’s been showing us some powerful remedies and guess what. He’s a friend of Jack’s from school.’

Caroline bobbed Ned a curtsey. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

‘Delighted to meet you too, Miss Fife.’ Ned gallantly seized her fingertips. ‘I shared a bedroom for a couple of years with this man of yours. So anything you wish to know about his nocturnal habits, I’m willing to share.’

Perhaps he’d gone too far. The bright patches on Caroline Fife’s cheeks spread like a full-blown sunrise. She shot a fleeting glance at Jack, then gave Ned a smile that could only be described as a whimsical grin.

This shy beauty wasn’t the sort of girl he’d imagined Jack with.

* * *

Mrs Fife’s allocated twenty minutes had clearly expired. When she left the parlor, along with her daughter, Jack accompanied Ned out to the street.

For a moment they simply took each other’s measure. Then Ned heartily slapped Jack across the shoulder. And Jack extended his hand for a shake.

‘Jack the Skinflint,’ Ned exclaimed. ‘Never dreamed I’d meet up with you again, especially as unexpectedly as today.’

Jack stiffened. Perhaps Ned been unwise to dredge up the old nickname.

‘Nor I. So it seems Ned the Blunderbuss is a bigger liar, scoundrel, and thief than I ever was. Perhaps it was you Father Bhaer should have kept his eye on.’

‘That’s a harsh way of putting it.’ Ned put on a wounded tone.

‘Is it?’ Jack was no longer smiling.

Ned arched his back. ‘You’ve always been a rich boy. You wouldn’t understand the lengths to which some of us feel driven just to make ends meet in a way that doesn’t resemble a street urchin.’

‘But not everybody becomes a drummer of quack remedies,’ Jack said pointedly.

Ned set his valise on the ground and planted his hands on his hips. ‘This is a mere stopgap, until I figure some different course to take. And who are you to talk anyway? At least I wouldn’t sit around and watch my own mother-in-law get fleeced.’

Jack’s gaze flickered. ‘Future mother-in-law.’

‘Even so, my point still stands.’

‘Well, she’s so stubborn when she sets her mind on anything, I doubt I could’ve talked her out of those purchases anyway. So I didn’t bother trying.’

‘Letting her find out the hard way, huh?’ Ned felt like rubbing it in.

At last, Jack gave a self-deprecating grin. ‘There is another reason. Even though I’ll probably never see him do it, I like the thought of old Elmer Fife trying to crank himself out of a bad temper with that shock gadget of yours.’

Ned laughed.

‘Why didn’t you finish college?’ Jack asked him.

‘If you really want to know, stress got the better of me. We aren’t all young geniuses like you, who retain information like a steel trap and perform mathematical equations with the speed of light.’

Jack rolled his eyes. ‘Will you stop doing that.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Insinuating that everything comes so easily to me.’

Ned pursed his lips and refrained from mentioning the beautiful girl, although he longed to.

‘Have you heard about Emil?’ Jack asked quietly.

‘No, not a word. Do you mean to tell me that you have? How’s the old Commodore going?’

Jack bowed his head. ‘He went down with his ship. I just heard the news from Mr Fife last night over dinner.’

Ned’s heart lurched with a nastier jolt than he’d ever received from the bogus Nerve Reviver.

‘It’s in the papers,’ Jack went on. ‘I bought a Clarion from a newspaper stand just to see for myself. And it’s true. His name is listed as one of those missing, presumed drowned.’

Ned’s knees wobbled. He leaned against a nearby lamp post. ‘Poor old Commodore. It feels a bit lousy to think of him dying while he’s following his honest dream, and here am I, cheating gullible housewives out of a couple of dollars.’

Jack nodded. ‘I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Your arrival was a welcome distraction.’

Then Ned suggested something impulsive. ‘See here, I’ve got to hurry to my next appointment now, but can we catch up again before I head off?’

‘Head off to where?’

‘I’m based in Chicago now. The thing is I’ve got to leave tomorrow night.’

‘Then why not tonight?’

‘Well, sure. Am I to assume you don’t have anything on with that lovely fiancé of yours?’

Jack’s shoulders slumped even further. ‘No, our relationship isn’t like that.’

‘Not like what? You mean friendly? If I had a girl like that, I’d have my calendar checked every night.’

‘There, you’re doing it again!’ Jack accused him.

‘Doing what?’

‘Think about it!’

Ned raised his hands in a puzzled gesture. ‘Well, I don’t know the hard lengths you went to woo your fair lady. What are you implying? That you won her hand all too easily too?’

‘Forget it,’ Jack grunted.

After setting the time and place, Jack went back inside the Fife mansion with his nose in the air.

And Ned ambled away whistling to his next appointment.

Poor old Emil. That’s just too bad.

Chapter Text

‘I wasn’t always a snake oil hawker.’ Ned’s tongue had been loosened by a tankard of porter. ‘When I first started door-to-door knocking, I’d been collecting for different charities.’ He blinked down at his mutton chop and went on. ‘But I make far more of a killing with quack remedies and beauty products. Maybe that says something about human nature. Who knows?’

‘Well, my father never donates to charities,’ Jack said. ‘He thinks people should get off their own laurels and work for whatever they receive. So if he’s a typical sample of the folk you canvass, then it doesn’t surprise me.’

‘What does your dad spend his money on?’ Ned took another swig. ‘I often used to wonder.’

Jack shrugged. ‘He considers himself fairly spartan. He’s never really gone in for books or antiques. But club membership, tailored suits, and thoroughbred horses are all part of his professional image. It all adds up. Other than that, he likes to hoard.’

Ned drew a smiling face in the window condensation that overlooked their small table in a corner of the restaurant. ‘The thing is, he can’t take it with him. We might be called at any time to shuffle off our mortal coils, as we’ve just found out with poor Emil.’

The blanket of despair Jack had been ignoring seemed to engulf his shoulders again. ‘I know that.’

‘We really ought to visit old Plum,’ Ned pronounced. ‘Let’s pay our respects in person. How about this weekend?’

Jack could only interpret his own sudden stomach lurch as resistance. ‘I think I’d be doing them more of a favor to stay away.’

Ned added a frowning face to his window art. ‘What are you saying?’

‘Think about it. They considered themselves well rid of me.’

‘No, not true. You were Father Bhaer’s prize math student. He must’ve been proud of you.’

Jack pushed his last withered bean around on his plate with his fork. ‘Well, he never really said so. Not that I can remember. Spent more time warning me specifically about the evils of materialism.’ He gulped a mouthful of claret. ‘And then, of course there was that time I played right into his hands.’

Ned shot up his hand. ‘Hey, before you go any further, remember that you’re the one who started dredging all this up. Not me.’

‘I know! I’ll be happy to move on in a moment. But before we do, let me say one thing. If old Bhaer hadn’t expected the culprit to own up in front of everyone else, the whole debacle might’ve played out far differently. If only he’d been more discreet about it, and invited us to see him privately, I might’ve mustered the nerve.’

Pursing his lips, Ned nodded thoughtfully. ‘I see your point. But Father Bhaer was always one for shining the light of day on anything underhanded. Come on, you were fourteen years old back then! Let bygones be bygones. Why not come and see them now, for Emil’s sake? Show them how much he meant to you. And how well you’re doing.’

Jack realized he’d barely tasted a mouthful of his hashed beef. I can’t! Not even for Emil’s sake. What’s the point anyway, now that he’s dead. He mumbled, ‘They’d still find something to criticize me for.’

‘Huh, what do you mean? They weren’t critical people.’

‘Shows all you know. They might not have admitted it, but I could tell. They were never quite the same toward me again. They found a myriad of little ways to rub it in. Remember, Mother Bhaer couldn’t even come up with a yarn on our storytelling night without using me as an example of corruption. I’m not saying I didn’t deserve it, mind you.’

Ned slowly shook his head. ‘I think it’s partly your imagination. You and Emil used to be such great chums, and it’d be a mark of respect. Why not bring that lovely fiancé of yours for moral support. I’m sure Mother and Father Bhaer would love to meet her.’

‘No, I wouldn’t expect that of Caroline.’

Ned screwed up his face. ‘Would it be all that big a sacrifice for her if she loves you?’

How could Jack begin to explain that he hardly knew the girl, that being with Caroline was always an awkward ordeal of filling lengthy silences. ‘In my father’s circle and the Fifes’, I don’t think love works the way you think it does.’

Ned’s eyes widened with his bug-eyed look from old times. ‘How do the high and mighty complicate the notion of falling in love? Tell me one thing. Do you love Caroline?’

‘She’s a very lovely girl.’ That, at least, was the truth.

Ned’s eyes glinted. ‘That’s not what I asked. Tell me another thing. Did you propose to her? I can’t imagine it.’

Jack flushed. ‘I suppose I must have.’

Ned hooted. ‘How can you not be sure?’

‘It all just happened. Keep in mind that they were already throwing us across each other’s paths at every opportunity. One night after some dance or other, I said something to Caroline about how deeply I esteem her and her family. You know the obligatory sort of patter I’m talking about. Then the next thing I knew, my father and the Fifes started making wedding plans! Caroline and I both knew that’s what the three of them wanted.’

Ned spun back to his window art. The next face he drew had a wide open mouth of shock. ‘You’re scaring me now. You rich people are off your rockers. Take my advice, my boy. You and Caroline need to sit down and have a good chinwag together. Think it through. Your parents might be experts at pulling strings, but this is your lives.’

‘It’s too late to do anything about it now,’ Jack said shortly. ‘The church is being organized, engagement announcements are behind us, dressmaking is underway and three hundred invitations are being written up as we speak.’

‘But it’s crazy if neither of you really wants to go through with it.’

Jack felt a sudden flash of pique. ‘Don’t put words in my mouth. I never said that. By the time the wedding day rolls around in June, I’ll be well and truly used to it.’

Ned whistled. ‘Who are the three hundred guests you’re inviting? All big nobs in the finance world, I suppose.’

Jack was back on comfortable, unemotional ground. ‘Yes, mostly. Along with Caroline’s family connections.’

‘How about your family connections?’

‘Them too, such as there is. There’s Dad’s brother and a couple of cousins. We don’t have much in the way of family.’

‘How about your mother’s people?’ Ned asked curiously.

‘My mother didn’t have any family. Her parents disowned her.’

‘Why? For marrying your father?’

Jack shook his head. ‘No, that was an arranged match. But he drew the short straw. She turned out to be unstable and eccentric?’

‘Who says so? Do you remember her that way?’

‘I don’t remember her at all. She died when I was two years old. That’s why we have no connections on her side to invite.’

Ned puffed on the window pane to renew the mist for more drawing. ‘This is all sounding more like a business arrangement than a romance.’

‘Everything my father has his finger in is a business arrangement. But that’s just me making it sound that way. I’m sure it’ll be a great wedding. Mrs Fife is pouring everything she has into it.’

‘Well, you need to add a bit more fire to the romance, old chap. For Caroline’s sake. Talk to someone. Find out what ladies like. Get some tips.’

Jack’s lip curled. ‘From whom? You?’

‘No, not from me!’ Ned shot his hands out in front of him. ‘What the heck would I know? How about your dad? He’s been married.’

For the first time that evening, Jack almost laughed. ‘Sure, that’d be like asking Old Man Winter for advice about where to take a warm, tropical vacation.’

Ned sniggered. ‘I haven’t seen you for ten years, and now I’m worried about you.’

‘Well, you needn’t be.’ Jack shoved his plate aside and scooted closer to the misty window. ‘See here, this is the effect you’re having on me.’ He drew a circle and filled it in with irritated slashes for eyes, and a straight, cross line of a mouth.

Ned pretended to clap softly. ‘Superb effort! Emil would have been impressed.’

Jack turned away to hide the hot pressure that suddenly welled behind his eyelids.

* * *

It was a good thing that Jack and Ned finished dinner when they did, for the leaden sky was brewing a January gale. As Jack hurried along, he breathed in the frigid, damp-charged air that heralded turmoil. Just as he set foot inside the front door, the first thunderclap rattled the windowpanes. Then the gas lights spluttered in their brackets along the corridor as if giving it a round of applause.

Jack was finding it difficult to fall asleep lately. Although it was already 11.30, he had some work to do for business clients. That would be the best way to ward off intrusive grief about Emil and gnawing anxiety about his upcoming wedding. Rubbing his chilly arms, Jack strode the length of the corridor to the storeroom for extra candles in case he needed them at his desk.

For some reason, he paused before the framed photograph of his parents in their wedding attire. Ned’s idle questions over dinner still whirled through his mind. This portrait had long been relegated to the back stairwell, grouped among other likenesses of long-ago, sober-faced Fords who Jack had never known.

Of course it owed its continued existence to convention, not sentiment. Nobody, least of all his father, would destroy a commissioned, framed likeness, although he never spoke about his dead wife. There hung the only evidence Caspar Ford had ever been married. It was a symbol of propriety and decorum, but well out of the way where nobody would often see it. It displayed the younger version of Caspar to excellent advantage. Broad-shouldered and sternly handsome with his stiff collar and cravat, the bridegroom gazed straight ahead with a truculent expression of possession and pride.

Jack’s gaze flickered to his mother. Her name, Miss Selina Sturgess, was really all he knew of her. How impossible it was to gauge whether some germ of instability lurked deep behind a person’s visage, for there was no way he could tell. Her high forehead, oval face and slightly tilted eyes gave the illusion of intelligence. Her hair was swept back from her forehead in a jet-black cloud, her cheekbones pronounced, chin well-defined. If not pretty, she appeared at least reflective and interesting.

Selina’s hand rested lightly on Caspar’s frock coat, as though the gesture had been rehearsed many times.

No doubt it had. An endless line of photo obligations lay ahead of Jack over the next few months. And even though he’d been finding it hard to sleep, a wave of exhaustion washed through him.

He hurried on to the storeroom, rummaged around in a cupboard and grabbed the candles. In his own study, a cheerful fire blazed in the grate. Mrs Buckley, the most recent housekeeper, was already familiar with the hardworking habits of ‘Young Mr Ford’.

As Jack spread out sheets of paper before him, his father looked in, swathed in his dressing-gown. ‘I thought you might still be out in that storm. Are you going to burn the midnight oil preparing those market summaries?’

Jack nodded. ‘Since I’m still wide awake, I thought I’d knock it off the list.’

Caspar smiled. ‘I had the same focus at your age. Coffee and ambition kept me rooted to my desk sometimes from dusk to dawn. I’d still be the same if my eyes didn’t close despite my best efforts. You put me to shame, son.’

Jack grinned back. In his schooldays, this was the precise sort of praise he’d craved from his father. Now that the day had come, he had to remind himself to enjoy it. If restlessness translated to paternal approval, it suited him fine.

‘Where were you? At the Fifes visiting Caroline?’

Jack shook his head. ‘Not tonight. I had dinner with an old school friend, Ned Barker.’

‘Is he someone worth inviting to the wedding?’

‘It didn’t occur to me that he might want to come.’ Jack ran a hand through his hair. ‘I could still invite him. In fact, he asked me if I’d care to visit Plumfield with him this coming weekend. I told him I didn’t really want to. But I’ve been thinking maybe I should.’

Caspar’s eyebrows rose. ‘Whatever for?’

‘To pay our respects to the Bhaers in person. Remember, Mr Fife mentioned their loss of Emil.’

‘Oh, that’s right. I don’t think paying an actual call is necessary after all these years. Why not just send them a condolence note? Then they’ll have it in writing, which will be even better. A personal record that you acknowledged them.’

‘You might be right, sir.’

‘Of course I am. Listen Jack, the dividends for those storekeepers’ holdings still need to be calculated. Can I leave that to you? You’ll be in until Friday now, won’t you?’

‘Yes, other than going out walking tomorrow with Caroline in the Common.’

Caspar smirked. ‘You can defer wooing Caroline for a bit now. Work comes first.’

‘But you told me to make her happy.’

‘That was before you won her hand. Now that you’ve done it, that can take second place. You need to set your priorities in order. Goodnight, son.’

And Caspar Ford ambled off to bed.

Chapter Text

Ned arched his arms above his head in his train compartment. His flared frockcoat was a little tight. He lowered his hands to his lap, careful not to tear it. Holey armpits would not be a flattering look. He’d have to be equally cautious to hedge any questions from Father and Mother Bhaer about his current occupation.

Jack is the one who’s worried about falling even further in their estimation, yet he’s a brilliant, successful young stockbroker. How am I supposed to feel? I bring nothing to the table whatsoever. Sitting alone in a train carriage with only his restless thoughts made Ned faintly queasy. The weight of his display case rested uncomfortably heavy against his leg. He would’ve left it home, except for possible opportunities to score a sale or two. Dammit, I have to earn a living. He’d certainly keep its latches tightly shut for his duration beneath the roof of Plumfield.

The train jolted to a stop and a puff of smoke rolled through the partially stuck window. Ned coughed into the crook of his elbow. The wind was blowing the wrong direction for comfortable travel today.

A frizzy-haired young woman entered the small carriage. She settled across from Ned, smoothing her skirts, as more oily-smelling cinders drifted inside. Covering her nose, the girl leaned across her seat for the stiff window latch.

Ned doffed his hat and stood to his feet. ‘Allow me, Miss. I already had one attempt, but these windows are more troublesome than ever today.’ He rattled and shook the offending fixture. The swollen wood made this one particularly obstinate, but he managed to shift it an extra inch. Then he waved his bowler hat to clear the steamy atmosphere within the carriage.

Ned offered one of his wide smiles as he resumed his seat. ‘I always prefer non-smoking compartments, but today it seems to make no difference either way.’

‘It is like this more often than not,’ she replied, with a pretty pout. ‘Sometimes I think we must simply imagine ourselves part of the engine.’

‘I doubt the engine ever looks as composed as you do.’ Ned was good at doling compliments to young women. He’d had plenty of practice over the last few years.

Her lips formed a becoming bow shape. ‘You’re very handy with these old fittings.’

Mesmerized, he watched several flecks of soot settle on her corkscrew curls as lightly as powdered snow on a bed of alyssum. ‘An unfortunate necessity in my line of work. I mend whatever needs mending. And try to assist whenever I see ladies in discomfort.’

‘Oh, I’m hardly uncomfortable now, thank you.’ She settled her curly coiffure against the plush head rest as the train chugged along.

‘No indeed, but I can’t help noticing when the harsh platform air chafes the complexion. May I…?’ Ned trailed off in the enigmatic manner he’d developed that served him so well, tapping his sample case.

She took the bait. ‘What is it you carry, sir? Something medical?’

‘Something beneficial.’ He drew out a slender, frosted glass vial. ‘A restorative complexion tonic especially for ladies who need to travel but wish to preserve the freshness which nature endowed.’

‘How does it work?’

‘One drop spread across each cheek first thing in the morning ensures the skin will remain firm and bright, regardless of weather or pollution.’

Her eyes remained fixed on the vial in his hand. ‘Is it expensive?’

‘Only two dollars ninety five.’ Ned trusted that would strike her as impressive but not exorbitant.

‘I’ll take a bottle. My cousin swears by something similar, and it costs her twice as much.’

Ned’s pulse quickened. This stage of any transaction felt like reeling in a fish on the line. He presented her the vial with a flourish. ‘This, applied sparingly, will no doubt last two, if not three times as long as any purchase your cousin made.’

The young lady withdrew a beaded purse from her reticule. She counted out coins on the palm of her glove. ‘My fiancé used to be a medical man like yourself until very recently.’

‘Oh?’ A wave a misgiving passed through Ned. At least the fellow was nowhere in sight.

‘After our engagement he quit college to work with his father in mercantile goods. I’m positive his medical school failed him. He never came across a fraction of the clever products available for sale.’

‘Ah, that’s because they’re being developed in private laboratories.’

The young lady squinted out the smoke-stained window. ‘My station is coming up. Well, I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr…?’

‘Barker. Ned Barker.’

‘Thank you kindly, Mr Barker. Have you a catalogue of products I can take with me?’

‘Certainly, miss. Everything from liniments and pills to magnetizing devices. Here you are. Um, I wouldn’t call myself a medical man though. Just doing my humble part to advance modern science in the home.’ Ned ran his hand across the coal dust on the window ledge. Now the state of his glove probably matched his conscience.

When his companion exited the compartment, Ned slouched down in his seat with a sigh. I’ve got to eat and pay my bills. Pursing his lips, he began to hum. If it wasn’t so confoundedly easy to earn money so very spontaneously, he would never stick with salesmanship. But his slightly crooked lifestyle enabled him to hold up his head among the likes of sharp young professionals like Jack Ford. And he surely didn’t work a fraction as hard as they did.

Ned began to recognize familiar landmarks from his school years and sat up straighter. There were the sloping fields where they’d run foot races; a silver flash of a beloved swimming hole; one of the birch groves where they’d played the dangerous game of ‘feather jumping’. Ned snapped the latches of his case again and twisted the key to lock it tight. It would stay well and truly hidden until he’d left Plumfield again. Heaven help him if anyone from his past discovered his dubious occupation.

* * *

‘I know you’re very clever with numbers,’ Caroline blurted out of the blue. ‘Is it one of your favorite conversation topics?’

Jack blinked himself back to attention. Finishing his father’s market summaries in record time the previous night had enabled him to keep his tryst with Caroline. But now he felt dead on his feet. Truth be told, he longed to shake off her feather-light touch on his arm and return home to bed for an hour or two. He was in no fit state for walking along a tree-lined avenue.

‘I could probably ramble on about numbers for hours on end,’ he said. ‘But would that suit you?’

‘I don’t know yet.’ She lifted her face to a cold shaft of sunlight that pierced a grey cloud. ‘Try me. Although you’d better keep it fairly simple. You’ll lose me fast if you try to explain college mathematics.’

‘So you’re challenging me to come up with something about numbers that you might find interesting?’ He couldn’t help smiling.

Caroline’s cheeks flushed rosy pink. ‘When you put it like that, it sounds like a contradictory request. So never mind.’

Jack breathed deeply to clear his fatigue-driven torpor. ‘No, I’m up for it. Numbers are interesting. Um, how’s this then? The students of Pythagoras suggested that odd and even numbers symbolized masculine and feminine traits respectively.’

Caroline’s green eyes flickered with something that might have been curiosity. He guessed it was more likely pure relief to have yet another awkward silence filled. ‘How very odd.’

‘Well, odd numbers are necessarily odd,’ Jack said dryly. ‘What about this. They also endowed numbers with human attributes. The number one was linked to a person’s reasoning ability, because it’s so solid and stable. Number two signifies polarity. That’s because it introduces the concept of a pair, you know. Two is the number that makes opposite opinions possible.’

‘Number two must be a good analogy for marriage then,’ Caroline mumbled. ‘A man and woman of polar opposite habits and tastes coming together.’

‘Good thinking. But there’s another number that Pythagoras equates even more closely with marriage.’

Caroline stiffened beside him. ‘Let me guess, it must be the number one. The union of two distinct people becoming a single entity. A woman being swallowed up in her husband’s identity.’

Jack didn’t miss her sudden pallor. ‘Is that how you regard the thought of marriage?’

She slid her hand from the crook of his elbow. ‘Maybe a little bit.’

‘Then you must find it a terrifying prospect.’ By now, he felt wide awake. ‘Being swallowed up in somebody else sounds most alarming.’

Caroline smiled faintly. ‘I’m trying not to let terror get the better of me. It is somewhat scary though. So was I right? Does the number one represent marriage?’

Jack shook his head. ‘No! Remember I already said that number one represents reason. You might be happy to know that the number for marriage is five.’

‘How so?’ Caroline peeped at him from under her hooded lashes.

‘I’ll tell you. Five represents marriage because it’s the very first union of an odd number with an even number. Remember how they thought odds were masculine and evens feminine. So do you get it? Two plus three equals five.’

'But wait a moment,' she protested. 'How about the number three? It's composed of two and one.'

'Good thinking, Miss Fife. But three didn't count, because they weren't in agreement that the number one ought to be considered a bona-fide number in and of itself. Until more numerals were added, it was merely a stand-alone entity. It hadn't earned its place. Sounds pedantic, I know.'

‘Ah, quite fascinating.’ Caroline had reverted back to short comments.

‘So marriage was number five. And you see, the components keep their own integrity.’ Jack was suddenly eager to press home his point. ‘No swallowing up of the other occurs. The three is still the three. And the two is still the two.’

Caroline stood still for a moment. ‘It also works with the numbers four and one anyway. They add up to five and are also odd and even.’

‘Precisely.’

She gingerly slipped her hand back around his elbow. ‘I like that.’

‘Me too.’ Suddenly from wanting to be completely free of it, Jack wished that she would clutch his arm a little tighter. Was she always going to treat him so skittishly?

I don’t think I can stand it much longer.

* * *

Ned’s emotions roiled like boiling water as he walked the once familiar path to Plumfield. Its cheery gables were visible through the evergreen leaves on the street from way back. At last, he paused to clear his throat as he gazed up the path to the front door. In place of Mother Bhaer’s usual bright winter window trimmings hung black crepe curtains of mourning. And Emil’s own flag, that he’d been so proud of, hung at half mast from the roof promenade he’d been so fond of walking.

That was what really clogged Ned’s sinuses. He and Jack had helped Emil lug home that very same flag so proudly from the wharf, when the town boat club had decided to exchange it for a larger one. ‘This flag is big enough to suit us,’ the Commodore had gloated while Ned complained about his blistered hands.

The hand with which he opened the gate trembled, and he headed up the cobbled path slower than he’d intended, simply to compose his face.

His knock on the door brought forth none other than his old friend Daisy Brooke. She stood before him, a lovely young woman rather than the little girl Ned remembered, yet as sweet and wholesome as he would have expected, neat as a Christmas parcel. Her thick braids were wrapped around her head, and one of her perpetual aprons tied snugly around her person.

‘Hello, it’s so good to see you,’ he said simply. Ned winced as he waited for whatever Daisy might reply. She would be far too kind to rebuke him for his lengthy absence, but surely soft reproach might shine from her eyes. He forced himself to meet her gaze, just to get it over and done with.

Instead, he read nothing but blank courtesy. Daisy glanced politely from his face to the valise in his hand. ‘Good afternoon, sir, are you selling something?’

Ouch, that was the sharpest sting of all. She didn’t even recognize him.

‘I can’t believe you don’t know me, Posy.’

The old nickname did the trick. She gasped as recognition spread across her features like sunshine. ‘Ned? I can’t believe it, after all this time. Ned Barker!’ Daisy extended her hand to tug him over the threshold. ‘I can’t tell you how overcome Aunt Jo will be at the sight of you. I guess you’re here because you’ve heard about Emil. Oh, Ned.’ Daisy’s face crumpled and she snatched up the hem of her apron.

‘Well, look who’s here!’ a beloved voice exclaimed for the stair landing.

It was Mother Bhaer herself, hurrying down to greet him. She looked hardly any different than he remembered, except for a slightly more faded hair color, but hairpins still poked out of it in the same haphazard manner of old. And her eyes, like Daisy’s, were swollen red with grief. She extended both hands to him.

‘Ned Barker, I know you must’ve heard our news. That’s what’s brought you here.’

He gently kept hold of her hand. ‘I was so anxious to hear all about the dear old boy, I couldn’t keep away.’

Chapter Text

‘Ker-choo, a-choo, a-tishoo!’ Caroline groped for her handkerchief midway between her string of sneezes. ‘Tell me, Mama, … ker-choo … why are we doing this again?’

‘I’m taking down this stash of old newspapers because we’re going to make our drawing room as neat as a new pin for your wedding reception.’ Ernestine Fife turned her head aside to let out an echoing sneeze of her own. ‘And we’re leaving no pages unturned because I surely must have saved them all for a reason.’

A troupe of grey dust balls danced across the table as Mama turned yet another musty page.

Caroline wrinkled her nose. Even her eyes were itching. ‘I don’t understand why we’re sorting through them at all. Why not simply fling them in the trash?’

‘If I chose to keep them folded on the top shelf for all these years, then I would have had excellent reasons. So we’ll go through page by page until I come across the articles of interest that must’ve caught my attention. It’s as simple as that. If I don’t take the time to look, I’ll lose them forever.’

Caroline spread out a brittle newspaper, careful not to tear it. ‘This Gazette is from 1866. Mama, you know that’s the year I was born. If you haven’t missed these articles for over twenty years, can’t you do without them now?’ Her chest cavity was beginning to tickle.

‘Keep looking!’ her mother grunted. ‘I’ve already found a sweet pattern for a pinafore apron I meant to sew for you back in 1868.’

‘Well, you missed your opportunity. You can hardly sew it for me now.’ Caroline paused to tsk her tongue at a particularly fussy looking gentleman’s waistcoat.

‘If you someday have a daughter of your own, then I’ll sew it for her.’ Mama’s forehead wrinkles were etched with brown streaks.

Dread, cold and heavy, surged back inside of Caroline. Although the talk she’d had with Jack calmed her for the time being, misgiving was right back in its usual spot. ‘I wish you wouldn’t talk about such things.’

Ernestine glanced up from a yellowed periodical. ‘You’ve been out of sorts ever since you came inside from your walk. Are you still treating poor Jack with that stubborn reserve?’

‘I’m not being stubborn, Mama. I’m still getting to know him.’

‘But we’ve known the Fords for years! You and Jack knew each other when you were children.’

Caroline blinked back sudden tears. If they trickled down her cheeks with all the dust floating around, her face would literally turn to mud. ‘Mama, there’s more than one type of knowing somebody. There is truly knowing them, and then there’s mere acquaintance. That’s what Jack and I have had all these years.’

Mother and daughter lapsed into testy silence, for it had all been said over the past few weeks.

Caroline could count every fleeting encounter with her soon-to-be-husband on her fingers. She thought of eight-year-old Jack, whose bag of marbles had split open during the dedication of the Benevolent Society Chapel, which their financier fathers had supported as donors. The small boy couldn’t have caused a bigger ruckus if he’d tried. His glass orbs spilled onto the varnished floorboards with a cacophony like a thunder clap. Caroline froze on the spot. She had been peeping at Jack circumspectly before the disaster, because his elfin face and sticking-up hair, the consistency of a dandelion clock, reminded her of a sketch of Pinocchio in one of her storybooks, before his nose had grown extra-long, of course.

As his red-faced father propelled him out of the chapel with an iron grip on his shoulder, Caroline and Jack caught each other’s eyes. And Jack took that split second to pull a very ghastly face at her. Caroline tried never to catch his eye again after that, and she’d succeeded for a good decade.

Skipping past several pages of farm implements, which couldn’t possibly have interested her mother, Caroline remembered eighteen-year-old Jack, who’d attended obligatory soirees of money-men and their families, dressed so smartly in his black tailcoat. By then, of course, he’d stopped looking like Pinocchio. He resembled an illustration of Jack Frost in an almanack her parents used. The legendary symbol of winter had been portrayed as a stern-featured young man sitting astride a fence, presumably contemplating the wholesale freeze he was about to unleash on the world. In those days, Jack Ford had nodded stiffly at her without any form of expression, as if greeting the daughters of his father’s business associates was a duty to have over and done with.

Those days were only six years ago. Jack Ford hadn’t really stopped looking like Jack Frost. Only once had she ever seen him in any other guise than surly or glum.

Caroline had spotted fourteen-year-old Jack during an opera performance of Faust. She and her parents were seated in the stalls near the orchestra. Jack was evidently part of a small group of school students under the charge of a stout, bespectacled gentleman who’d ushered him and two others into a balcony row where they could gaze straight down on stage.

As Caroline watched, the three boys nudged each other and whispered mischievous remarks, to judge from the merry expressions on their faces. Jack himself wore a beam of pure delight from ear to ear. He shook back his hair and laughed at some quip made by the boy beside him, who couldn’t seem to sit still. Then Jack pointed out something on the playbill that must have been hilarious, because all three boys sniggered. Caroline ran her eyes down her own sheet, at a loss for the cause of their humor.

‘Isn’t that Mr Ford’s son sitting across from us?’ Mama had whispered during the interval.

‘I believe you’re right!’ Papa slowly shook his head. ‘I’m sure Caspar Ford would be put out by the unseemly manner in which Jack conducts himself when he’s not around.’

‘Oh, boys will be boys,’ Mama said indulgently.

‘But that boy shouldn’t,’ Papa replied. ‘He has a professional mantle to uphold.’

Caroline hadn’t seen much of Faust. She’d been too busy watching Jack and his friends.

A trumpeting roar jolted her from her daydreams. It was merely a gigantic sneeze from Papa as he entered the drawing room. ‘What on earth is going on here? It’s like stepping into a sandstorm.’

‘Elmer dear, how you do exaggerate. I told you about my plan to scour all those old newspapers for whatever must have caught my eye in them.’

Papa gazed ruefully at the folded newspaper towers on the table. ‘Darling, I wish you’d been in the habit of simply snipping articles with scissors instead of keeping the whole paper.’

‘I agree,’ Caroline spoke up.

‘Has your mother enlisted you in the quest to help? How are you supposed to guess whatever whims struck her fancy ten or twenty years ago?’

‘She ought to know me well enough to gauge what I’d put aside,’ Mama said.

‘Indeed.’ Caroline couldn’t help rubbing it in a little. ‘That’s what I call true knowing. Not mere acquaintanceship.’

Papa’s eyebrows drew together. ‘What’s our daughter insinuating now, my dear? Is she still complaining about our wedding arrangements on her behalf?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

Papa cleared his throat. ‘Now listen here, my girl. Perhaps it’s time you were made aware. Mr Ford and I intend to finalize the merger of Ford and Son with Fife Investments. Don’t you think Ford and Fife has an excellent ring to it?’

Caroline swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. ‘A merger? While our engagement is still so new?’

‘That’s precisely why your Papa’s timing is so ideal.’ Mama’s face shone. ‘It presents a united front. The city will see your marriage as the natural cement to the partnership.’

Caroline’s lungs suddenly felt tighter than ever. ‘Does Jack know about this?’

Her father sighed. ‘If not just now, he soon will. I have no idea how much his father confides in him. We certainly didn’t take him into our confidence during the negotiations. A junior partner needn’t plumb the ins and outs of his father’s plans.’

Caroline closed her eyes. ‘Were we not to be told beforehand?’

Her mother soothed, ‘We wished to spare you unnecessary details until all was certain.’

‘Anyway, I’m telling you now to make it clear that I’ve found the best possible match for you. You and Jack both stand to inherit tremendous influence. What parents would not do their utmost to secure that for their children? I’ve found you a young man who is totally trustworthy, mightily intelligent, and extremely conscientious and hard-working. You might not see it now but someday you’ll appreciate that I’m sealing your future with rock-solid comfort.’

Then it’s a pity you’re not marrying Jack. Sometimes Caroline wished she dared risk a sassy retort to her father.

His mind seemed to run along the same lines anyway. ‘I can’t imagine what on earth you’re looking for. If I was a young woman, I’m sure I’d marry him myself.’

Caroline hardly knew whether to laugh or cry.

* * *

Jack sat at his desk re-wording his letter to the Bhaers for what felt like the hundredth time. Expressing his feelings in words had never been his strong point.

‘I now realize my friendship with Emil was the highlight of my time at Plumfield,’ he’d written. ‘At the time I merely considered us to be fast friends. In retrospect, it’s obvious to me that his happy disposition, boundless energy, and warm heart transformed what would otherwise have been a lonesome exile into a time studded with fun and true fellowship.’

Perhaps I make it sound like I consider their school to be a place of lonesome exile. Curling his lip, Jack dipped his pen in the inkwell and slashed lines through that paragraph. It was almost a relief when his father burst into the study, oozing with satisfaction for whatever reason.

‘I hoped to find you here, son. I have news of significance to tell you.’

Jack quickly placed a sheet of blotting paper over his letter. Father already thought he’d been taking far too long over it.

‘My negotiations with Fife Investments have concluded,’ Caspar announced. ‘The merger will be finalized in record time now.’

Sticky dismay coursed through Jack, although he shouldn’t have been surprised. It had been obvious for weeks that something was brewing, the way Father and Mr Fife had closeted themselves away for hours in one mansion or the other.

Caspar Ford was striding the patch of carpet. ‘We kept you out of the preliminary talks. No need to entangle you in the tedious groundwork. But now we require signatures. You will accompany me to the Fifes tomorrow morning as my junior partner.’

‘So the engagement was a step toward… this?’ Jack should have guessed.

Caspar stood blinking at him. ‘What else? Need you even ask? You are to inherit the firm, Jack. The match makes it clean and straightforward. You don’t look pleased.’

Jack gazed down at his own clenched fingers. ‘I just need a moment to take it all in.’

‘Don’t you realize the scope of what I’m giving you?’ Father’s voice was laced with irritation. ‘This is a huge honor.’

‘I wonder if Caroline sees it the same way,’ Jack replied hoarsely.

‘I have no conception why you or Caroline would possibly object.’

‘I’ll try to explain then. Don’t you see it gives the feeling that Caroline is property being bargained. Me too, for that matter. Marriage is supposed to be about affection. Not corporate leverage.’

Father’s peal of laughter was laced with scorn. ‘So that’s behind the long face. Come on! You’re talking fairy-tale logic. A marriage is what you make it. This is real life.’

‘You might be right, sir.’ As always, Jack had quickly run out of comebacks to his father’s fire.

‘I’ll overlook your ingratitude this one time and put it down to surprise. You aren’t going to look like a busted balloon when we go to the Fifes tomorrow, are you?’ Caspar craned forward with his fists planted on Jack’s desk. As usual, his tone of voice turned the question into more of a command.

Jack fell into line as always. ‘No, it’s too late now, anyway. It’s already a fait accompli.’

* * *

‘Mama, here is a recipe for a lemon summer pudding from May 1866, the very month I was born. It sounds like something you might have wanted to keep.’

‘I don’t remember seeing any such thing, but it sounds worth trying.’

Caroline smiled. ‘I suggest that we claim it for your collection, and then we might be able to put away…’

A strikingly familiar name overleaf, although printed in minuscule type at the bottom of the page, snatched her focus. Chewing her lip, Caroline swiftly scanned the entire article.

“Important Decision in Equity Court.
The case of Ford versus Sturgess concerning the infant son of Mr Caspar Ford was concluded yesterday before Judge Loring. It was shown that Mr Ford, a gentleman of impeccable standing in the brokerage sector, is well positioned to provide for the child’s education and future prospects. Counsel for the maternal family raised concerns regarding the late Mrs Ford’s health in the months preceding her demise; however the Court deemed such matters insufficient to counterbalance the father’s demonstrated capacity for responsible guardianship.

While testimony touched delicately upon the late Mrs Ford’s periods of ‘nervous indisposition’ and ‘domestic unease,’ the Judge concluded that no evidence suggested the child’s welfare would be better served away from his paternal home. Accordingly, Mr Ford retains full custody, and the child shall remain under his direct supervision.”

‘To put away what, my dear girl?’ Her mother peered over Caroline’s shoulder. ‘What are you reading?’

Caroline realized she’d been holding her breath. ‘This!’ She jabbed her finger at the brief article. ‘Mama, were you ever aware of any such court case?’

Ernestine raised her lorgnette. Her lips moved faintly as she perused the two paragraphs. Then she stared at Caroline. ‘Do you imagine this refers to our Mr Ford?’

‘Of course! Who else? How many Caspar Fords operate in the brokerage sector of Boston?’

‘But this took place in 1866!’ Ernestine slowly shook her head. ‘It can’t be right.’

‘That’s even solider proof. His infant son! It correlates perfectly with the age Jack must have been at the time.’ Caroline began to wrap the ribbon from her bodice around her finger, a nervous habit from way back.

‘I’ll tell you why it cannot be accurate. Our Mr Ford’s parents-in-law never took any interest in him and Jack. They’d disowned their daughter and anyone to do with her.’

Caroline tugged the ribbon. The tighter the better. ‘That’s what he tells us.’

‘Are you implying that Mr Ford was not being frank with us? Your father’s own new partner?’

Caroline released the ribbon and watched her fingertip return from scarlet to pale. ‘Mama, I wasn’t seeking this article. I just stumbled across it. I wonder if Jack knows about this?’

In a flash, her mother whipped the old newspaper from beneath her nose. ‘Before you mention this to Jack, or anybody else, we’ll see what your own Papa counsels.’

Chapter Text

‘I’m a…um, patent goods distributor. I… er, travel in commissioned sales.’ Sitting face-to-face on Plumfield’s porch across from both Mother and Father Bhaer hindered Ned’s flow of words, something that rarely happened on the job. Somehow the crisp, garden-fresh air inhibited his fine-sounding lines from rolling off the tip of his tongue. Yet he mentally kicked himself for being unable to muster his signature smooth talk when he needed it the most.

‘We just want to assure ourselves that you’re happy,’ Mother Bhaer said. ‘If you’re following a career path in which you can hold up your head, convinced in your heart of hearts that you’re doing your very best to benefit mankind, then we’re satisfied.’

Ned squirmed on his wicker outdoor chair. Mother Bhaer unleashed her moral shafts with the accuracy she always had. If he knew no better, he’d think she’d guessed the truth from his very hedging. Her eyes, although red-rimmed with grief for Emil, still seemed to gaze clean through his soul.

‘Yes ma’am, I’d like to benefit mankind, as you put it. I’d aim for something higher and nobler still if I thought I could.’ Now he might sound defensive when they weren’t even questioning his chosen path. ‘My abilities fall far short of my ideals though.’ Easy, Ned, old boy. No need to overdo it!

Then Father Bhaer cleared his throat. ‘Would you like to hear the thing that made me marvel most throughout my years of teaching? It never stopped surprising me about all my students.’

‘What was it, Sir?’

‘You are all capable of far more than you think you are. Time and again, I’ve seen you boys deliver more than you ever thought you had in you.’

Ned blinked at him. ‘Could you give me an example?’

‘We can certainly give you more than one. You surely remember Dan? We dubbed him our wild boy, yet he surprised himself by finding the inner stillness to sit for long enough stretches of time to learn about natural history and botany. In no time, he had quite an extensive knowledge base, remember? And it impressed nobody more than himself.’

‘And we have Nat right now studying music in Leipzig,’ Mother Bhaer added. ‘That bashful child we first knew, who couldn’t even read, would never have dreamed he could fend for himself in a foreign nation that required mastery of a whole new language just to enroll.’

‘Good old Dan and Nat,’ Ned said. ‘I’m pleased to hear they’ve done so well.’

‘And consider our own dear Emil.’ Father Bhaer paused to control his twitching features. ‘I can’t count the number of times that boy insisted that he couldn’t grasp specific mathematical skills in the classroom. I think young Jack’s brilliance in that area used to intimidate him. They were together so often. Yet when I gave Emil permission to pursue the studies of navigation and astronomy in his own time, he proved that he could wrap his head around any number of difficult concepts.’

‘What sort of concepts?’ Ned felt a barb of regret for never showing more interest when Emil would rhapsodize about his hobbies.’

‘Well, I could hardly fathom it myself. Spherical geometry and trigonometry for a start. Then there were his logarithmic tables and charts. And those algebraic equations for predicting the motion of celestial bodies. That’s all far more complex math than anything he’d ever claimed to be beyond him.’

Father Bhaer’s whiskered chin began to quiver, his shoulders suddenly sagged, and he dabbed his damp eyes with his large spotted handkerchief. Clamping his own eyelids tightly shut, Ned reached out to pump the old gentleman’s hand.

‘Enthusiasm is the spark that ignites the torch of latent abilities.’ Mother Bhaer squeezed her husband’s hand on the other side. ‘I hope you’ve discovered that in your sales role, Ned.’

He forced a grin. ‘I’m not sure what my latent abilities are. I was the Blunderbuss, wasn’t I? Always falling over my own feet if nothing else was nearby. And breaking things.’

Father Bhaer blew his nose. ‘From what you tell us, it sounds as if you are already drawing from what we knew to be your strong point.’

‘What was my strong point, Sir.’ Ned didn’t have to pretend to be intrigued.

‘I’m referring to your way of disarming people. Winning folk over and making them feel comfortable by virtue of your own unaffected manner. I always had the impression that you were a chap who could have people eating from your hand like tamed birds if you wanted to.’

Ned drew back his chair and lowered his gaze. Is that why selling snake oils comes so easily to me?

‘I wasn’t aware that disarming people could be considered a bona-fide skill, Sir.’

‘It’s one of the most fortunate and handy ever for those who wield it well.’ Mother Bhaer craned forward.

Ned peered balefully toward his feet, at his case full of quack remedies. Perhaps he’d have to hightail it out of there before the thought of hoodwinking people became total anathema to him, for he certainly couldn’t afford to give it up yet. He had nothing else to fall back on.

Stirring with a sigh, Ned rearranged his long legs beneath the wooden porch table. ‘Well, I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you both after all these years, even though the catalyst is such a terrible blow for all of us. But I guess I have a train to catch soon.’

‘Must you leave right away?’ Mrs Bhaer pushed back her hair. ‘We’re expecting one of your old friends at any time and he’d be crushed to think he missed you by a whisker and might have to wait another ten years.’

‘Who’s that, ma’am?’ Ned had already seen Rob and Teddy, the junior Bhaers. Disconcertingly taller and broader-shouldered than he’d ever imagined, they’d both shaken his hand and accompanied them when Daisy led him through the grounds and garden patches for old time’s sake. ‘Do you mean Demi?’ He wasn’t sure he felt up to meeting the Deacon. Not if he was as squeaky clean as ever.

‘No, Tommy Bangs. He’s been haunting the shipping yards for news updates, the dear boy. Probably tired out.’

A wave of tenderness rose in Ned’s heart. ‘Ah, good old Tom. I would like to see him. Tell me, what path has he taken?’

‘He took up medical studies for some time.’ Father Bhaer’s eyes surely might have twinkled in their old way if they hadn’t been so red-rimmed.

‘Tom! A doctor! Heaven help his patients.’ Ned flushed. Perhaps he shouldn’t have voiced his initial reaction but memories of his accident-prone, practical joking, mischief making, freckled school chum took him off guard. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean that. If the old fellow is really in earnest, then all power to him.’

‘You jumped ahead. I said he took up medical studies for some time.’ Father Bhaer managed to muster a wink. ‘That part of his life is well and truly over.’

‘One young lady inspired him to take up medical studies in the first place.’ Mother Bhaer smiled wryly. ‘And another caused him to stop.’

‘Let me guess. Nan was his inspiration?’ Ned couldn’t help laughing. Then the thought of never being able to share the joke with Emil quelled it instantly.

‘You’re right. And even though he floundered miserably, nobody could talk him out of it, least of all Nan herself. But at last another young lady helped him see the light. He’ll have his new fiancé with him when he comes. Miss West is a lovely, friendly girl.’

‘I’ll be more than happy to meet any fiancé of Tommy’s.’

‘Well, fortunately for all of us, he only has one. And you’ll see her very soon. I believe she was catching the train back today from visiting family in Quitno. Tom planned to meet her in town and bring her home here.’

‘And you may learn through Tom’s experience that any course can be changed,’ Father Bhaer said. ‘You needn’t set your hand to the plow if it turns out to be in the wrong field.’

I wonder if he suspects something? Flexing his foot, Ned nudged his incriminating valise even further behind him. Nobody, even Father or Mother Bhaer, could possibly guess the fraudulent nature of his real occupation. Those gleaming gold latches would remain firmly shut until he left Plumfield far behind him.

* * *

Mr Fife cast his eye down the old newspaper article with a crinkled brow. The second time through, his grizzled head swayed, ever so slightly, from side to side. And the third time, his upper lip puckered, as if he was sucking something sour.

‘I see no benefit in bringing this out in the open,’ he decreed at last. ‘None whatsoever.’

Caroline let out her bated breath. ‘But Papa, if Jack has no idea about something that so directly concerned him, then doesn’t he have a right to know?’

‘This incident took place twenty-two years ago. It’s over and done with. There is no value in looking backward rather than forward. Mr Ford and I agree heartily on progression as a principle in business and in life itself. Let old news remain old news. The passage of time has rendered this null and void.’

‘Then if that’s the case, surely mentioning it to Jack will do no harm.’ Caroline moistened her dry lips.

‘No, I won’t have a whisper of this scandal marring the start of your marriage. I’m telling you this for your own good, my girl. Mr Ford has a strong and powerful personality. Don’t stir his resentment and displeasure. If you start off on the wrong foot with him at the very outset, it may be hard to earn back his esteem.’

Caroline reached for her bodice ribbon. Alas, the clean dress she’d changed into didn’t have one. She plucked her collar instead. ‘Perhaps I don’t care about holding onto Mr Ford’s esteem if it’s based on covering up what should have been out in the open all along.’

Her father rose from behind his desk. ‘You listen to me, I’ll stress the importance of this. Caspar Ford will be your father-in-law and my business partner for the duration of the unseeable future. Any glimmer of disharmony between our two families cannot simply be shrugged off. It will fester for all time.’

Caroline’s heart began to hammer. ‘But you said yourself that the passage of time has rendered the contents of this article null and void.’ Her voice trembled ever so slightly.

Elmer Fife’s hand slammed the table hard. ‘Keep quiet about it for this reason then, if no other. I am your father and I order you to never breathe a word of this to anyone.’

Caroline blinked at him, grinding her teeth.

He appeared to take her silence as acquiescence. ‘This article indicates that Mr Ford was quite correct about his wife’s family anyway. They sound like spiteful and histrionic trouble makers. And if the Court ruled in his favor, it proves that they were indeed.’

No, it merely proves that the male Judge was of the same fixed mindset as you and Mr Ford. Caroline knew better than to state her objection out loud.

She bowed her head as she stepped out of her father’s office. Two secrets now weighed heavy on her heart. Her father’s demand for silence was added to the existence of the article itself.

Her mother was waiting to calm her. ‘Darling, I couldn’t help overhearing. Papa was right, you know. You just keep nice and quiet and everything will be alright.’

‘Will it though? Will I be alright?’

‘What on earth are you talking about?’ Ernestine stroked her hair. ‘Of course you will be.’

‘Mama, I can’t help thinking of my predecessor. The former Mrs Ford. What did that poor woman go through?’

‘You’re not making sense. Why should she have gone through anything?’

‘I can’t forget the wording of that article. What caused the domestic unease she faced?’

Caroline’s high neckband was not tight but suddenly felt like a noose.

How would she possibly live the remainder of her life among those cold Fords without being chilled to the bone?

* * *

‘Guess who is out on the porch.’ Mother and Father Bhaer had been summoned inside on household business, but her voice drifted back through the open door to Ned. ‘Dora dear, you don’t know him, but he’s a friend of Tommy’s from years ago. Why don’t you both just go through.’

Ned pushed back his chair to greet the newcomers. First came a familiar face from a decade ago, with the same tawny hair, the same map of freckles, even the same crumples in his cotton shirt. ‘Tom, old man!’

It was gratifying to see recognition dawn in Tommy’s eyes too.

‘Ned Barker! Look at you. Quite the man around town.’

They slapped each other’s backs then stood back to inspect each other from head to toe.

‘I came straight away to pay my respects when I heard about Emil.’

‘I guessed as much.’ Tom’s eyes filled with tears. ‘It’s a tragedy. And we may never, ever hear any updates.’

A ladylike cough sounded behind them. Tommy spun around at once.

‘Forgive me, I have introductions to make. Ned, this young lady is my fiancé, Miss Dora West.’

Ned felt his smile freeze when he turned to her. He stood face to face with the frizzy-haired young passenger from the train.

Her blue eyes widened at the sight of him. ‘Good heavens, it’s you!’ She pivoted on her heels to Tom. ‘It’s him, of all people. The young man I told you and Nan about on the walk up here.’ She covered her mouth but not in time to stifle a nervous giggle.

Tom stared from one to the other. ‘Do you mean the person who sold you that tonic?’

‘The very same.’

Ned felt as if a plug was pulled, draining his innards downwards. ‘So you’re the fiancé who quit medical school.’ Rats! It all made shocking sense. He gaped behind their shoulders at the vivid green fields beyond Plumfield, battling the urge to bolt straight off the porch and run.

Tommy’s lips began twitching. ‘I say, this is mighty awkward. I could never have set up a meeting like this if I tried.’

‘Me either. But I can explain.’ Ned’s head whirled. No, I can’t.

‘It’ll have to be quick, old fellow. The thing is, Nan was with us. She’s the one who, um, broke the news to Dora that she’d wasted her money.’

‘She called you an unconscionable humbug,’ the young lady added.

‘And she’ll be out here in a moment,’ Tom went on. ‘She just popped into the kitchen to tell Daisy something.’

‘Oh, Great Scott!’ Ned’s knees began to buckle. ‘Will she go easy on me? I am a guest, after all.’

‘The thing is, I’m not at all sure she will.’ Tom took a step closer and lowered his voice. ‘You’ve struck one of Nan’s sore spots, you see. She’s been petitioning City Hall about the widespread scourge of fraudulent tonics. And she’s written to countless medical journals condemning the sort of stuff you pedal.’

Ned clasped Tom’s arm one last time. ‘Listen, it’s been wonderful seeing you, but I’ll have to scoot. I have a train to catch. Should’ve been away long before now. Can you give my apologies to Nan when she comes?’

‘It’s too late to cut and run!’ The new voice fell like a thunderclap. And there she stood. With her hair tied back in a severe bun, her mouth pursed in a frown, and her eyebrows pulled together in a ferocious scowl, Ned’s old friend, Dr Giddygaddy, had never looked more formidable.

Chapter Text

Ned gulped. ‘Good afternoon, Nan. You’re looking, um, as sharp as a scalpel.’

She kept her eyes fixed on him. ‘Hello, Ned. And you look slick as an eel. I’ve sometimes wondered what became of you. So you’re one of the reprobates responsible for spreading this medical miracle nonsense.’

‘Uh, I don’t make the products. I merely distribute them.’

She took a step closer. ‘So you’re not even a charlatan. You’re merely a charlatan’s puppet. That’s even worse.’

Ned felt the tips of his ears burn.

‘Go easy on him,’ Tom interjected. ‘He’s a visitor.’

‘Go easy on him!’ Nan repeated. ‘While he’s been merrily poisoning half of Massachusetts.’

Ned winced. ‘Actually, I’m based in Chicago now.’ And how he wished he was safely back there. He suspected Nan was un-disarmable, if there even was such a word.

‘And Illinois too,’ Nan said smoothly. ‘Congratulations.’

Daisy’s white face had appeared in the doorway from the house. She looked stricken.

A deep flush infused Tommy’s cheeks. ‘Nan, remember this is still a house of mourning.’

‘I haven’t forgotten, believe me. I’m sure Emil would want to me speak up under the circumstances. He’d have hated to think his old friend Ned has been peddling poison in a bottle. So I’ll snatch my opportunity.’

‘Oh, must you?’ Daisy touched her temples.

‘The products aren’t all harmful.’ Ned had no option but to defend himself as best he could. ‘Some are merely impotent.’

‘Are they indeed? Just like your life has been over the past few years.’

The back of his neck turned damp. Surely Nan had crossed a line. ‘It’s too bad of you to say that. Everything I sell has been tested.’

Nan let out a snort. ‘On whom? Rodents?’

‘On myself!’ Ned shot out. He tilted his chin.

‘Then I suggest you find yourself a safer line of work before you start glowing in the dark.'

‘He does have lovely wavy hair and shiny sideburns,’ Dora West interjected.

Ned gave her a stiff bow.

Nan was still glaring at him. ‘I hope you realize that giving people false hope is a serious matter. Did it ever occur to you that you’re preventing vulnerable souls from receiving proper treatment which they might truly benefit from?’

‘If they genuinely need physicians, surely it never takes long before the truth becomes clear.’ Ned instinctively ducked his head. It was not his best comeback.

‘Oho, so now you’re confessing to wasting people’s time as well as their money.’

He fought the urge to cover his face with his twitching hands. ‘Well, we’re not all clever enough to revolutionize the world by means of burning, slashing, and prescriptions.’

‘Ain’t that the truth,’ Tom breathed fervently.

‘I suppose you’ll enlighten Mother and Father Bhaer about the contents of my case,’ Ned murmured.

Nan smartly shook her head. ‘No, they’re dealing with enough grief over the loss of Emil, a truly good man. She already considers you and Jack to be her failures. We needn’t prove it beyond a doubt.’

‘What? What a moment! She calls us failures?’ Ned felt the sting deep in his soul.

‘Oh Nan, you shouldn’t have said that!’ Daisy turned pallid.

‘A bit blunt, don’t you think?’ Tom, on the other hand, was pink as a lobster.

Nan had the grace to flush herself. ‘Perhaps I got carried away. But can you blame Mother Bhaer for saying that? The pair of them have kept away for ten years and never accepted any invitations. It took nothing short of Emil’s death for Ned to come now. If you want to change her opinion, you must change your behavior.’

‘Hush, here comes Uncle Fritz,’ Daisy breathed. ‘Remember all of you, this is a house of mourning.’

Out stepped Mr Bhaer, rubbing his face. ‘Why are your voices raised?’

Ned snatched the most handy escape opportunity he was likely to get. He rubbed his moist hands down his checkered trousers before gripping his old teacher’s hand one last time.

‘I’m sure Nan will tell you. It’s been lovely to see you, sir, but I really do have a train to catch.’

Ned bolted from the stone steps and tried to keep his jittery feet from breaking into an outright jog. Alas, he couldn’t prevent a burst of speed. The contents of his incriminating valise jingled and clinked like telltale traitors. He straightened his back and sauntered to the gate, mightily glad that human beings had no tails, for his would be curled well and truly between his legs.

* * *

‘So what is your favorite number?’ Caroline blurted, simply to break the lingering silence. The three men had spent almost an hour in Papa’s office signing documents. Now Papa and Mr Ford remained in there celebrating over shots of whiskey, but for some reason, Jack had preferred retreating to the parlor.

At first he hadn’t noticed Caroline perched quietly on her tapestried stool near the fireplace. Jack sank down on a wingchair, brushed the back of his hand across his face, and heaved a deep sigh. When he looked up and saw her, he gave a quick start, followed by a grim nod. He had on his Jack Frost face and didn’t say a word.

Now in response to her question, he glanced up again, astonished. ‘I don’t have a favorite number. There are far too many of them. And anyway, numbers are tools, not pets or children.’

‘I should hope you’d never choose a favorite child either,’ she demurred.

Jack’s lips twisted sardonically. ‘Impossible, since I don’t have any children yet.’

Caroline turned away to hide her burning cheeks. It was too bad of him. ‘Never mind, I just thought I would…’

‘Alright, I’m sorry. If I did have a favorite number, it would probably be the number three.’

‘May I ask why?’

‘Because at school, my two best friends and I were occasionally called the terrible trio. We sometimes made a bit of noise, you see. I considered it something to be proud of.’

‘So I presume one of those friends was Emil, who…’ Caroline clamped her mouth shut.

Jack nodded over her gaffe. ‘That’s right. And the other was Ned. The fellow who sold your mother that ridiculous zapping gadget.’

Another short silence fell.

‘If I’d been asked, I’d say three might be my least favorite number,’ Caroline spoke up.

‘May I ask why?’ Jack seemed slightly interested.

She squirmed her knees beneath her voluminous winter skirts, trusting that he wouldn’t notice her fidgets. ‘It stems back to school days too. It bothered me that I rarely managed to strike a happy medium. I was continually being scolded for veering on either side of the sweet spot I aimed for. Always either too loud or too soft. Too slow or too fast. Too fastidious or too untidy. Too sensitive or too thoughtless. Never just right. So I guess three is a number that puts me in mind of being rebuked.’ Enough, Caroline, he doesn’t want to listen to you grumble.

But Jack nodded thoughtfully. ‘You do have a point. But weren’t you the exemplar student?’

‘Whatever gave you that idea?’

‘Well, over dinner at the Vendome last week, your mother mentioned that you were head girl at… wherever it was.’

‘Saint Angelica’s. That’s true, but I owed my position to Mama’s friendship with Mrs Abercrombie, the headmistress. So that didn’t really count.’ Caroline looked down at the forgotten needlework on her lap. ‘In fact, it made the other girls resent me.’

‘Oh, that must’ve been tiresome.’

She noticed that Jack’s eyes were a cloudy grey color, like a pond in a rainstorm.

‘It was very… trying.’

‘But in defense of the number three, hasn’t it ever occurred to you that the world is full of naturally recurring trios and triads? That’s another reason why I like it. It’s the smallest number required to make a decent pattern and rhythm.’

Another unnerving silence followed.

Caroline hardly knew what made her speak up again. If she’d considered it for even a second, she wouldn’t have dared. She simply dreaded that pressing silence even more than what she was about to suggest. ‘I can think of a few groups of three. I wonder if I can think of more than you can.’

Jack fixed those disconcerting grey orbs on her. ‘Are you challenging me, Miss Fife? Because I must warn you, I’m extra handy at competitions.’

‘Shall we find out then?’

His lips flickered. ‘Certainly, if you like. I suggest we take turns until one of us runs out of ideas. And then the other is the winner.’

‘Very well. Will you please start, Mr Ford?’

‘Sure. Past, present, and future!’

‘The three blind mice,’ she countered.

Jack let out a short bark of a laugh. ‘Oh, come on. Are you serious?’

‘I am indeed. Why not? You said the world is full of trios, and I’ve noticed how some of them happen to be from famous stories and nursery rhymes. Surely folklore counts.’

‘Fair enough.’ He stretched his arms, cupping his hands behind his head. ‘I guess that opens the field. Alright, the three states of water. Vapor, liquid, and solid.’

‘Three Little Pigs,’ said Caroline.

Jack rolled his eyes. ‘The three visible phases of the moon. Waxing, waning, or full.’

‘But how about when it’s the shape of half a pie?’ she protested gently. ‘Or a sliver like a sickle?’

‘Technically all your fanciful shapes fit somewhere within the three phases. Have you run out already?’

‘Of course not. Goldilocks and the three bears. There’s my angst about being too much or too little of something compressed into one story.’

‘Well played,’ Jack said. ‘The three life stages of man. Childhood, adulthood, and old age.’

He still hadn’t lowered his arms. Caroline found her gaze fixed on the contours of his elbows beneath his cotton shirtsleeves, raw-boned and youthful looking.

‘That sounds somewhat broad and general,’ Caroline told him. ‘How about, er, youth?’ She gulped.

‘It’s a true concept notwithstanding,’ Jack replied. ‘I guess youth slots into the end of childhood.’

‘If you say so. The Three Musketeers.’

‘Baseball! Three strikes and you’re out.’

‘The three wise men from the nativity story.’

Jack cleared his throat. ‘Um, in actual fact, there were bound to be many more of the magi than just three. Limiting them to a single trio is mere tradition.’

‘Then surely that fits the rules of our game even more? If the western world has compressed an entire multitude into just three, it must’ve had a good reason.’

‘Precisely. Because three is a perfect number.’ He flashed her a smile. ‘One is accidental, two is coincidental, and four is one too many. And one of those wise men was called Caspar, like my father, who thinks he’s very wise indeed. Back to me is it? Um, three meals of the day. Breakfast, luncheon, and dinner.’

‘Isn’t that somewhat arbitrary?’ Caroline found her heart skittering. His sudden smile reminded her of that long ago boy she’d come to think of as Opera Jack.

Jack shook his head. ‘Using your very own reasoning, it’s a western tradition, so it counts.’

‘Very well. The three little kittens who lost their mittens.’

At this point, Jack laughed outright. ‘I’m beginning to think you’ll never run dry. Three Olympic prizes. Gold, silver, and bronze.’

‘The three Billy Goats Gruff.’

‘Alright, a braid, or plait, of three strands.’

‘That’s a surprising thing for you to come up with,’ she said.

‘Well, to be fair, I got the idea from you.’ Jack gestured at her hair. Caroline had twined some of her curls into a braid that encircled the crown of her head. Somehow, the thought that he’d noticed made her skin tingle.

‘The three witches in Macbeth.’

He paused for a moment. ‘Hmm, I wish I’d thought of that one. I like those three hags. Uh, the Declaration of Independence.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know, Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.’

Caroline scratched her chin. ‘King Lear’s three daughters.’

‘Hmm, you seem to have moved on to Shakespeare now?’ Jack frowned, but it seemed pretend, therefore not at all intimidating.

‘Only for the moment. It’s your turn. Come on, keep them coming.’

Jack blew out a long, slow breath. ‘I find this hard to admit, but I’ve run out for now.’

‘Are you conceding defeat?’ Glee surged through Caroline’s veins, fizzy and heady.

Jack groaned. ‘I never concede defeat. Surely you’ve exhausted your store too.’

Caroline shook her head. ‘Noah’s three sons, the three wise monkeys, the Holy Trinity, the three crosses at Calvary, the genii in bottles who always offer their finders three wishes…’

Jack extended his hands as if warding off blows. ‘Enough! You’re simply rubbing it in now.’

‘So do you admit that I won?’ It felt like a dream. Throughout the years she’d so often heard Jack described by friends of her father as a boy prodigy, or a lad of singular aptitude for figures. And here she’d beaten him in a competition. It was nothing to do with mathematics though. Caroline couldn’t wipe the smile off her face just the same. But still.

‘By a landslide, it appears.’ He was blinking as if she’d stunned him. ‘Thank you.’

‘For what? Totally decimating you?’

Jack shook his head. ‘The sound of the word decimate implies the number ten. You triumphed over me.’

Then for the first time ever in Jack’s company, Caroline laughed.

‘I meant for proving that Ned, Emil, and I were obviously in very good company.’ Jack quirked one eyebrow, giving himself a wry expression. ‘Somehow, trios from stories don’t spring readily to my mind. My father disapproves of them. Of fictional stories, that is. He calls them a waste of time.’

‘He would thoroughly deplore my personal library then. Well, together, we covered an impressive number of trios. I wouldn’t have thought of any of yours either.’ She could at least give him that.

The parlor door opened a crack and Papa poked in his head. ‘I heard you both laughing. What’s so amusing?’

Caroline shook her head. ‘Nothing really.’

‘Well, I’m glad you children are enjoying yourselves, but I have to break up your tete-a-tete. Jack, my boy, your father has uncovered a few more documents that require your signature.’

‘Coming, sir.’

Papa disappeared and Jack rose from his chair. On his way past, he leaned closer to Caroline. ‘Should we add three pushy parents? Or does that trio apply only to us?’

She took the opportunity to mumble, ‘Do you sometimes get the feeling that we’re merely the ribbon tying the package?’

‘Totally.’ He had his Jack Frost face back on.

Caroline picked up her needlework again but had no heart for it. The subtle scent of Jack’s cologne lingered in the air. She tilted her nose to sniff. Bergamot? Maybe a hint of citrus? Whatever it was made a refreshing change from her father’s overpowering sandalwood.

Three pushy parents. There ought to be four. Whatever happened to Mrs Ford? And why did her family take her husband to court? How can Papa expect me to keep that knowledge from Jack? And why should I?

Caroline’s temples began to throb. Obeying her father wasn’t supposed to upset her moral compass.